


State of Grace

by ignitionspark



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 19:48:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10446048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitionspark/pseuds/ignitionspark
Summary: Randy knows what's coming. Set around the events of the March 21 edition of Smackdown.





	

He dreams of Bray.

And yes, he's always dreamed of Bray, right from the start, but this is different. This is a _message_ , Randy understands, and there are flames inside his head, their choking heat licking loud and furious as he raises his arms, silhouetted by the fire, awash in his own magnificence. But all at once the breath is sucked out of his lungs like he's taken a punch to the chest and there's nothing but darkness.

"Randy," Bray says, his face suddenly illuminated in Randy's dream, skin glowing pale, ashes still smeared at the edges of his beard. "Oh, Randy," he croons, in that sing-song, hypnotic intonation, "what a gift you've given me. Sister Abigail is inside me, her power is mine." 

Randy inhales, and waits, steadying himself, watching, listening. 

Bray gazes upwards, smiling in what could be ecstasy, transported. "She's always spoken to me, but now she's _here_ ," he says, fist slamming hard against his chest. He laughs, open-mouthed, teeth and tongue glistening wet in the flickering, muted light and then stares at Randy through narrowed eyes. "She says she wants to _taste_ you, Randy," he whispers, closer now, his voice low and hoarse, some uneasy place between menace and desire. "She wants to drink you in, swallow you down whole and chew on your bones, suck out the marrow." 

Randy tries to speak, to dismiss such empty, posturing words, but Bray raises his hand, gesturing, and Randy's throat is immediately sealed tight, the words dying silent.

Yet Bray understands. "Soon," he says, nodding. "Soon."

There's a rush of air, the sound of crows, and Randy wakes, sitting bolt upright in his bed, breath rising and falling in heavy, desperate gasps. Sweat drips down his spine, the sheets wet with it, and he doesn't need to even glance around the room to know he's alone.

_Soon._

*

The instant the lights backstage begin to falter, Randy knows. It's coming, _he's_ coming, Bray, and Randy stands firm, hands clenched at his sides.

Blackness closes in like night, and he's somewhere else, the smell of earth rich and damp in the air. The smooth concrete floor beneath his feet is replaced by rough wooden floorboards, and in the dim light there are men surrounding him; Bray's flock of faceless, faithful servants, ready to do his every bidding. 

And Randy fights, because that's what he does, always, but there are too many of them, anonymous parts of some cohesive whole that acts in perfect concert, kicking and hitting until Randy's subdued enough that they can hold him, struggling, a boot at the back of his legs dropping him down onto his knees.

Bray steps forward, gaze raking greedily over Randy's body as he blesses him with muttered incantations and prayers; left shoulder, right shoulder, the crown of Randy's head, and when it's complete, Bray kneels before him, arms wide. 

" _He's got the whole world, in his hands…_ " Bray sings, swaying ever so slightly from side to side, and Randy can feel it building, anticipation emanating like heat from the bodies around him, breathing in time, deeper and deeper.

Bray stops, climbing to his feet, calm as ever, looking down at Randy with a beatific, serene smile. "You gave me a gift, Randy," he says, "and now I will repay that favor."

"I want nothing from you," Randy spits out, shifting futilely in the steely, unmoving grasp of the flock. His fate is sealed, he knows, but resistance, refusal is all he has.

"My gift to you is _strength_ ," says Bray. "And true strength is gained through suffering, through the fullest and most pure debasement." He hums to himself for a moment, takes a breath. "Sister Abigail will bestow this upon you, this suffering." 

There's no signal or command from Bray, but the sheep move as one, and Randy's shoved forward onto his hands and knees, held tight in place, trunks pushed roughly out of the way. He tenses, bracing himself for the inevitable, but instead, he's spread wide, and a hot, wet tongue licks up his ass, worming its way inside.

He gasps in shock, cock twitching in arousal at the sound of Bray's knowing laugh. "You like that?" Bray asks. "Sister Abigail is merciful, Randy, she will ease the way for your ordeal."

"Fuck you," Randy grits out, jaw clenched as the tongue thrusts in and out of him, a hand reaching to stroke his hardening cock, sliding softly over his balls, pulling at them gently. "I…" he starts, but there's no words, not for this, not when he's consciously stifling a moan, head falling low as his hips thrust back into it. 

"You're so beautiful," Bray murmurs. 

Randy glares up him, burning with rage, desperate in his humiliation. "Are you ready now?" asks Bray, and there's no answer to give.

Randy hisses, swallowing hard as a cock pushes into his ass, thick and blunt and burning, and it's fucking _good_ , they're making it _good_ for him, and it's so much worse like this. He can endure anything, bite down and power through any conceivable pain, but pleasure is a wholly different beast, something else entirely.

And perhaps he underestimated Bray, but then again, perhaps the only person who Randy's actually underestimated is _himself_. He's always basked safe in the absolute, iron-clad certainty of exactly how far he will go: as far as it takes, further than anyone else, but now, in this moment, he sees that he's never truly understood what that means. 

The knowledge of it fills him and he moans, loud and wantonly brazen. Bray stares down at him, eyes gleaming in predatory delight, and Randy meets his gaze, unashamed.

And yes, this _is_ a gift, this is strength, a place so quiet and sure that nobody can touch him. Randy smiles back at Bray, letting go, letting himself _feel_ everything, all of it, right down to the last drop.

Because, come Sunday, when they meet in that ring, it will be more than a fight. They're both an eternity beyond something so simple and straightforward as a _fight_. 

What's coming is true and total destruction, the complete annihilation of Bray Wyatt's very soul, and to Randy, the victor, will go the spoils.


End file.
